


Fucking Gin

by LilyAngorian



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: A fair bit of touching, And haunted by his thoughts, Conversation, F/M, Flirting, Honesty, May is dressed as the perfect distraction, Set in s4 ep6, Tommy is drunk af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 19:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13173372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyAngorian/pseuds/LilyAngorian
Summary: Deep in the midst of Tommy's awful boozy holiday, he has a surprise visitor.





	Fucking Gin

“Someone to see you Mr Shelby.”

The room was spinning with shades of black and blue, and the voice timid against what had been screaming silence. Tommy didn't bother looking up, head gripped tightly his hands and blood pounding in his ears. 

“I told you Mary, I don’t need a doctor, I don’t need Polly, I don’t want to see anyone.”

“Yes, and I told her that you would want to see me.”

May’s brisk reply matched the pace of her low-heeled steps on the wooden floor, cutting through the murky quiet haze, and forcing his gaze upwards. 

She shrugged her fur coat free of her shoulders, and handed it to Mary, who hung it carefully across her arm. Both women looked at expectantly over at Tommy, still hunched over in the chair behind his desk. Silence again. He ran his hands over his hair a few times, to shake free the more obvious demons and stood up. May watched him stand, and he saw her notice the slight slip of his feet on the floor as he gestured towards them. He coughed, having to make more effort than usual to achieve an easy tone. 

“Thank you Mary, that’ll be all for now.”

Mary nodded and left the room, closing the door gently behind her. Tommy swayed a little, still trying to find his balance and hoping that it wasn’t too obvious. May lingered silently by the bookshelves, her eyes scouring the room for every detail, as though she was now embarrassed to make eye-contact with him. Maybe she thought she needed to give him time to pull himself together. When a few moments had passed and she finally spoke, her voice was low and slightly cold, but Tommy knew he couldn’t resent her that. 

“You look awful.”

Despite the insult, he felt himself grin, the first time in weeks that his lips had twitched into a smile. He’d missed that blunt honesty, and that _fucking_ monied lilt to her voice, scolding and fragile all at once. He folded his arms and leaned back against the front of the desk, half to steady himself and half to give himself an unobstructed view of her slender frame. Without her coat she looked a little plainer, but Tommy had learnt to appreciate the quality of fabrics now, and of tailoring. 

“I’ve been playing golf.”

She smiled at that, fleetingly, but the warmth of it seemed to break her chill. She paced forward a few steps towards him, head turning to study the contents of the bookshelves as they talked. 

“I see. And how have you found that?”

“I think it’s driven me mad.” 

Tommy picked a slightly cracked glass up from the desk, and swilled the remainder of his gin, contemplating it before knocking it back. His hand reached instinctively for the half-empty bottle. 

“Yes. It does that.”

He poured himself another drink, and raised the bottle towards her in a silent question. But she declined with a soft shake of her head, judgement flickering briefly in her eyes. He continued, pretending not to have noticed

“You don’t play?”

She drew slowly closer, and every slight movement could have been the steps of a dance. 

“It doesn’t strike me as either relaxing or stimulating, and so I don’t really see the point. Besides which, I much prefer the company of horses to the type of men who play golf.”

He watched her run gloved fingers over the spines of the books, hips shifting beneath her skirt as she slowly walked the length of the shelves. It must have been intentional, the sway and the pacing, and the way she looked across at him through her lashes like that. 

“I would have thought that’s all your _type_ of men do.”

“History would seem to suggest that I don’t really have a type, Mr Shelby.”

There was something to the way she lingered on his last name. He thought Shelby sounded good when it she wrapped her painted mouth around it, almost screwing the words. 

“He was in the war, your husband?”

“Yes.”

Despite the stirring heat beneath his skin, the gin-soaked nightmares were still too close to ignore, and he felt them driving his thoughts. 

“And he died there, in the fields?”

Once said, the words pained Tommy as much as they did her. He closed his eyes, but it was all black and red and scalding white. His grip tightened on the desk, and he forced his eyes open again, fixating on the milky curve of her neck, as his mind was dragged from one scene to another. 

“He did.”

Her voice echoed distantly, as did his own reply. 

“That would be your type then. Soldiers. Dead men.”

In the bleak silence that followed, the darkness split and shattered, pulling him firmly back to the room. May cast her gaze downwards and pulled her leather gloves free slowly, as he barely resisted the urge to sink to the floor, legs weak and shaking. 

“What a dreadful thing to say."

Tommy knew it was the drink now as much as anything else, but there was no taking it back. He groped at excuses, trying to steel himself again. 

“I bite like my horse, remember?”

May didn’t seem to hear him, continuing quietly

“There’s life in you both. Edmund in his letters and our friends, and in the corridors of my house, and you-“

“-And me?”

She paused before replying, her voice strained now, her steps towards him no longer choreographed. 

“Deep down I imagine. And in your eyes sometimes.” 

Tommy stared at her, repeating her words blankly.

“In my eyes.”

He could feel sweat on his back, but it was becoming hard to separate that heat from the building ache below his gut. Fuck gin, if this was all it did to him. 

“I think there’s more of you left than you realise.”

She was only a few feet away from him now, and he watched her arm twitch as though she was going reach forward and touch him. But she clearly thought better of it, and her hand remained at her side. 

“Doesn’t seem that way right now.”

He felt the words catch in his throat, choking on sentiment that was crawling up his throat. 

"It’s like the whole world is on the edge again, and I’m clinging to the mud for sanctuary.”

May heard the crack in his voice, of course she did. There was pity now, alongside the distaste in her eyes, and her words were tender in reply. 

“And where does that put me, Mr Shelby? In the mud with you?”

He leaned forward to grasp her hands, and pulled her those few steps closer to him, grip moving quickly to her waist. She didn’t resist the motion, if anything she eased herself further still, pressing herself against him. 

“I can’t bear the silence, May. And I see things, in the dark.”

She met his gaze, fingers reaching instinctively up to stroke his cheek, trace the haunted purple rings below his eyes. 

“So I’m a distraction? Like the Gin?”

If there was sadness or regret in her words, Tommy couldn’t make it out. She almost purred the questions into his neck. He pressed his hands against the silky fabric of her shirt, running his fingers along the prominent ribs beneath, and then kneading them into to the small of her back. 

“Sweeter than the gin.”

“Oh, I assure you I’m not.”

Her voice was lightly scornful, almost playful in it’s denial, her head tilting as she smiled up at him. He dipped his lips to her ear, whispering 

“Then perhaps I’ve forgotten the taste.”

She squeezed his arms gently

“Well you’re the one who’s brewing it.”

“I wasn’t talking about the gin, May.”

When he kissed her this time it was still half-fear, but her mouth was warm and hungry, and the feeling dimmed somewhat into the background. 

She tasted different, or maybe that was the gin still on his tongue, but she smelt the same. There was always a slight sweet spice to her skin, and he didn't know if it was perfume or sweat, but it tugged at him more than the Lizzie's light florals or soap. Maybe it was the horses, the country air and the wealth. You could always smell money on people. 

May backed away from him, and for a second the fear flickered again, but he forced it back as he saw her loosing the buttons on her shirt one by one. She’d slipped into the dance again, easing herself onto his desk, heels tapping against the wood as her legs swung a little. Eyes darkening, she pushed the black silk back from her chest, fingers stroking the white lace of the vest below.

As he closed the gap between them and stripped his own shirt free, he looked for signs of hesitance. Last time she’d pulled away from him, and he was half expecting her to do the same again. But, pulling his own undershirt free he saw only that smile, and felt only her hands reaching for him. 

“I’ve worried about you. Since the race.”

May raised her eyebrows, nails digging into his skin as she tugged insistently at the waistband of his trousers. 

“Whatever for?”

“Life isn’t easy. I know what it’s like to be alone.”

He realised that it wasn’t the moment, but when had he ever said it before, and who was there to judge him his weakness now? She sighed and stopped trying to tear his clothes off, shaking her head slowly. 

“I think we’re both likely quite used to it now, don’t you?”

He nodded. She was looking away from him now, nails tapping irregularly against the side of the desk.

“I was angry when you made your choice. But I dealt with it, and I got on with my life, as did you.”

She was undoubtedly softer than she let on. But he admired the resistance and resilience, he always had. She hadn’t had to fight the world the way he had, but she’d taught herself to face it with his same strength. 

"I wasn’t sure you’d let this happen again.”

May rolled her eyes at that, hands returning somewhat eagerly to his hips. 

“Thomas Shelby doubting himself…surely not?”

“Well it doesn’t happen very often. I’ve got a plan y’know.”

She pushed his trousers down to his ankles, quickly curling her fingers under the fabric of his underwear. 

“Another one?”

“I’m going to stand, in the election. And I’m going to win.”

May stopped once more, blinking up at him in surprise. 

“First an OBE, and now Governmental aspirations. Is this your attempt to pursue me?”

“If it was, would it work?”

“Perhaps if you win.” 

Pleased with both the conversation and the situation, May palmed him teasingly through the fabric, and Tommy felt himself swaying slightly again. 

“Did you pack an overnight bag this time?”

“I’m sure I’ll manage without one."


End file.
